


A Little Bit Sweeter

by DetectiveJoan



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Baking, F/M, Triple Drabble, Twizzlers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 10:23:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14054859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveJoan/pseuds/DetectiveJoan
Summary: Myka thinks Sam is joking the first time he mentions he bakes.





	A Little Bit Sweeter

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't really touched this show or fandom in nearly four years, but I sure have been reading a lot of Check, Please! fic and for some reason that brought me back here with this. 
> 
> Title from "[Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8M5AGcAHQR0)" by Rufus Wainwright

Myka thinks Sam is joking the first time he mentions he bakes. A week later, he brings in a plate of muffins made from scratch to share with the office; Myka’s pretty sure she’s never tasted anything that good before. 

The first time he invites her to his home, he answers the door in an apron flecked with flour. There’s a pan of cookies cooling on the counter of his (impressively spacious) kitchen.

“This is easily the best recipe I have,” he tells her, carefully breaking a cookie open. “After you try this, you’ll never want to eat any other sugar ever again.”

Myka narrows her eyes at him. “Technically, most food contains some form of glucose,” she starts, but trails off when he brings the broken cookie to her lips. She obligingly takes a small bite. 

It’s almost still too hot, but  _ wow _ it turns out he was not bragging baselessly. 

Myka’s never really been one for deserts before, but she lets him ply her with all manner of baked goods, and then she lets him kiss the taste of it out of her mouth. 

After he dies, everything starts tasting bitter; it’s easier to give it all up.

 

*~*~*

 

One of the best things about Pete is that he’ll eat anything she gives him without question. 

There’s no more walking around receptions with a refreshment wrapped in a napkin until she can find a garbage to dispose of it discreetly. She can simply pass anything she’s given to him, and then dust the crumbs off her fingers while he inhales it.

“Not to complain,” he says after several weeks of this, “but are you ever gonna tell me why you hate brownies but love twizzlers? Seems inconsistent.” 

“Nope,” she says. He immediately shrugs his acceptance. 

She might love him. 


End file.
